


Mother's Day in the Madhouse

by Silvestria



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Children, Consolation Prize verse, F/M, Gen, Humour, Mother's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-05
Updated: 2012-06-05
Packaged: 2017-11-06 22:56:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/424167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silvestria/pseuds/Silvestria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mother's Day ficlet; Consolation Prize 'verse but can be read on its own. James, Reginald, Penelope and Clara Crawley express their gratitude to their dear Mama in unique ways. Matthew and Mary try to keep control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mother's Day in the Madhouse

_ Mothering Sunday 1928 _

"Oh, how nice!" said Mary as she opened her post at breakfast, "James has sent me a card from school. Isn't that lovely?"

She held up the card so the rest of the family could see it, a pretty watercolour of daffodils.

Penelope looked unimpressed. "I'm going to get you  _real_ flowers later, Mama. After church. They'll be better than a card."

"I'm sure they'll be beautiful, darling."

"What does it say?" asked Reggie.

She read it out. " _Dear Mama, Happy mother's day. I hope you have a lovely day. This is also from Biffie because he doesn't have a mother and I didn't think you'd mind. Hope Papa and the children are well. My class went on a trip to the seaside last week – it was topping and I got sand everywhere. Lots of love, James. P.S._  - he adds –  _I've sent a card to Aunt Sybil as well because I thought she might like to get one._ "

"That was nice of him," said Matthew approvingly, meeting his wife's eyes. "Sybil will be so touched."

At the same time, Clara piped up from the other end of the table, "Mama... why doesn't Biffie have a mother? Everyone has a mother."

"Oh Clary..." began Mary with a sigh.

"Biffie's mother's dead," said Penelope. "Just like Grandmama Grantham. In the Spanish 'flu probably."

"What's the Spanish 'flu?" asked her younger sister.

"Clara's eating jam with her fingers right out of the jar!" cried Reginald suddenly before anyone could reply, poking her.

"Stop it!" retorted Clara, poking back, her face crumpling into the beginning of a wail.

"No violence at the breakfast table, please!" cried their mother and put her head in her hands. "You can beat each other up at your leisure later if you must..."

"Such children!" sniffed Penelope, buttering another roll and sticking her nose in the air.

"Penny, you're not even in double digits!" laughed her brother and poked her too for good measure.

Matthew took charge. He removed Clara's fingers from the jam jar and pulled her onto his knee.

"Come on, darling," he said. "Why don't you eat your jam like a big girl – on your bread with a knife?"

He waggled his eyebrows over her head at his wife who smiled affectionately back.

"Tastes better from the jar," retorted Clara suspiciously, sniffing.

"Does it?" replied her father, humouring her.

"Oh yes!" she continued eagerly. "See, I tried it on bread with a knife, like you said, and out of the jar with my fingers 'cos I wanted to see which was best and I decided it's better from the jar."

"That's because your fingers are dirty, you ninny," interrupted Reggie with a grin. "You're probably eating loads of grubs with that jam. You're probably eating  _worms_."

"Ew, Reggie, do you have to?" said Penelope with a shudder. "I'm trying to eat and so's Mama."

"So's Clara – she just doesn't know what!" He nudged her again, raising his eyebrows mischievously.

"I'm going to put dirt all over you both and then you'll be sorry!" exclaimed the littlest Crawley, escaping her father's arms and running round the table.

Matthew sighed and leaned more closely towards his wife, taking her hand and rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. "I suppose it would be inappropriate at this stage to wonder if perhaps we had too many children, wouldn't it?"

Her lips twitched. "It would indeed!" She hesitated. "In that case you're not going to like what I was going to tell you later today."

He blinked and frowned at how meaningfully she was looking at him and then his jaw dropped. "What? No! Darling, really?" He lowered his voice as she smiled in amusement and nodded. "But – but, Mary, you haven't been – I mean, not for years! Are you sure?"

It was easier now to ignore Penelope taking her cup of tea and stalking out of the room in a huff (attention only encouraged her anyway) and Clara's bold attempts to push Reginald off his chair.

"I don't know why you're so surprised, really," Mary murmured and met his eyes.

"No... And delighted!" he quickly added. "Of course I am. It's – it's wonderful!"

She shrugged even as she turned her hand over to clasp his back. "I suppose it's an opportunity to finally get it right..." She cast a fond, disparaging glance over her two, oblivious offspring.

"Oh darling..." he breathed with a chuckle and squeezed her hand. "I do love you!"

"I-"

She was interrupted by a crash as her younger son toppled off his chair to the floor. Mary started up. "Children please, you'll ruin your Sunday clothes! Is this how the future Lady Clara Crawley behaves?"

Clara was too busy pressing her advantage to listen to her mother and was soon sitting on his chest. "I won!" she cried very smugly, putting her hands on her hips.

Reginald opened his eyes and turned his gaze lazily towards his parents. "Happy mother's day, Mama!" he said. "Now get her off me for goodness sake before I suffocate!"


End file.
